Twilight: Blood Rain
by Theodore Barrington
Summary: Something's about to drop on Forks. Something big, grey and mean. REAL mean. WARNING: This is a anti-Twilight Fanfic. Things are gonna get messy.
1. Prologue

Prologue.

Alice Cullen shrieked, bolting upright in her bed. The almost total darkness of her room disoriented her for a few moments until she remembered where she was. As a clairvoyant, dreams of future events were nothing new to Alice. But there was something different about this one, something...wrong.

In the dream, she was in the dark woods. She sensed rather than saw this, thanks to the impenetrable mist surrounding her. What she had first assumed were the harsh cries of ancient birds, she realized she was hearing screams of terror and unbearable agony. Screams coming from her own family.

In the distance, a silhouette emerged and moved towards her. The shape was tall and humanoid, but beyond that, she couldn't make anything out.

Then, the shadow opened its eyes; Cruel, blood-red eyes that blazed like burning coals. Then the shadow enjoyed a chilling, guttural laugh.

That was when she had woken, filled with a dread unlike anything she'd ever felt in her hundred or so years. Her sheets were soaked, but not all of it was due to perspiration. Whoever or whatever the apparition had been, it had literally scared the piss out her. Half of her wished Jasper was with her, while the other half was glad he couldn't see her in this state. She wanted to get out of bed and change, but the dream made her too scared to venture into the dark. So, Alice just curled up into the foetal position and lay there, shivering.


	2. A New Job

** El Chupacabra Cantina- 5,000 Lightyears Away from earth**

If one were to describe the atmosphere of the Chupacabra Cantina, adjectives like "obnoxious", "degenerate", "volatile" and "Extremely Dangerous" would spring to mind. And nobody embodied these traits more than the individual who had just entered the establishment. Almost immediately, every eye (organic, bionic or antennae) turned to the doorway.

Standing there was a 6 foot 4 humanoid, grey-skinned with a shaggy mane of black hair and a surprisingly neatly trimmed goatee. Muscles rippled and shifted beneath leather biker gear and the wicked looking meat hook and chain wrapped around his right forearm glinted in the dim light, but more attention was on the body bag slung over his shoulder. The man's reputation preceded him as a bounty-hunting, mass murdering mercenary and all around nasty bastich: Lobo, the Self-Proclaimed, Last Czarnian.

The Catina grew unnaturally quiet, even the subwoofers ceased blaring their Latino/Techno fusion. Nobody wanted to make the first pin-drop of sound in case they became the unfortunate recipient of a severe disembowelling. Glaring, red eyes regarded the room and the cigar-chomping mouth curled into a leering grin.

"Hey, don't mind me," said the bounty-hunter. "I'm here strictly on business. And will somebody get some REAL music going for Feetal's sake."

The woofers powered up again, this time blasting death metal at full volume. The other patrons -those that had stayed- were still on edge, but gradually turned back to their drinking, loud-mouthing and pawing at the waitresses. There was no more rough-housing in case the bounty hunter wanted to join in. Rough-housing was a lot less fun when Lobo got involved, in a highly destructive and often fatal way.

Five assorted aliens cleared a space at the bar as he approached and made themselves scarce, mumbling half-hearted excuses to their respective colleagues or dates. Lobo ignored them and called for the bartender, a three eyed, orange skinned Cauldinian.

"Hey Merv," called Lobo, banging his hook on the counter. "Hit me!"

Merv went into the back room, emerging after a few minutes wearing a containment suit and using a pair of metal tongs to carry a Noxious Fragger in a lead-lined flagon. The drink in question was concocted by the Main Man himself, a potent cocktail of Venusian Firewater, sulphuric acid, nitro-glycerine and just a hint of radioactive waste for that little extra zing. Obviously it was instantly fatal to anyone that didn't share Lobo's unique physiology, which was pretty much everyone. In fact only three months earlier, former busboy and aspiring pop star Gleegor Marx dropped a Noxious Fragger, killing himself and half the patrons in the bar. The other half were killed by a certain Czarnian, hacked off that he was still sober. Luckily Merv -who'd stepped outside for a smoke break- managed to throw together another before Lobo moved onto the next unfortunate establishment.

Merv watched warily as Lobo knocked back the drink, the liquid literally burned its way down his gullet, causing acrid smoke to spew from his nose. When he finished, he let rip with something cross between a cough and a belch then spat a glob of blood onto the floor, where it remained, sizzling on the marble. Merv removed the flagon, dropping it in a decontamination bin.

"Did ya get it done?" he asked.

Lobo still needed a moment as his healing factor repaired his vocal chords, so he just removed the bodybag and slammed it down on top of the bar.

"I see you chose dead over alive," said Merv.

Lobo grinned, wolfishly.

"If it's my choice, I always do," he said. "Little Bastich was giving me grief anyway."

Merv nodded.

"That's Gareth alright. You mess him up good?"

"He's in one piece, but you'll wanna opt for a closed casket," said Lobo. "Say, ain't you gonna check it's actually him?"

"I believe you," said Merv. "You say it's my boy, it's my boy."

"Hey, Merv, I ain't exactly one to talk, but this was a little harsh, doncha think?"

Merv shrugged.

"Snot nosed punk shoulda known better to steal from me," he said. "Besides, ain't like I can't have other kids."

Lobo chuckled and lit another stogie as the bartender put a package down before him.

"500 g's as agreed he said.

Lobo pocketed the cash and got up to leave.

"Later Merv!"

"Hey Lobo, wait up," said the bartender. "Another job's come through if yer interested, real messy one."

"Who's it from?" asked Lobo.

"According to my sources, he goes by the name of Stoker, but I doubt that's his real name."

"I only care if the money's real," replied the bounty hunter. "What's he offering?"

"5 Mil."

Lobo whistled.

"That's a lot of scratch," said Lobo.

"There's a lot of fragging to be done."

"Where's it at?"

"Planet called 'Earth'" said Merv.

Lobo knew the place well enough. Not bad for a backwater spit of dirt, even if there WAS an abundance of goody-goody capes.

"Yeah alright, I'll take it," said Lobo.

Merv handed him a piece of paper.  
"Go to this address, you'll get further instructions there."

Lobo took the paper. "Thanks Merv, keep my spot warm, I'll be back before you can say Feetal's Gizz."

Lobo turned to leave, but it wasn't until the roar of his Space Hog faded into the distance that Merv and the rest of the bar let out a collective sigh of relief.

The Main Man was some other poor sap's problem now.


	3. Sunshine & Lollipops

**Forks, Washington, Earth.  
5,000 light-years from the El Chupacabra Cantina.**

The sun was shining brightly in the sky, almost matched by the diamond shiny skin of one Edward Cullen as he frolicked through the snowy fields (or whatever it is Meyerverse vampires do. I dunno)

It was a beautiful day, he was surrounded by beautiful, crisp snow as he pranced through a beautiful meadow. Edward himself was feeling pretty gosh darn beautiful (think Disney levels here) as the birds flew high in the sky and ickle wabbits hopped thither and yon. He was feeling so beautiful, in fact, that he could feel the irresistible urge welling up inside to burst into song. Alas, before he could inflict his trilling falsetto voice upon the meadow's animal inhabitants, he was interrupted by Jasper Hale.

"Eddie, I love you, but have you ever heard the term 'perpetuating a stereotype?'" asked Jasper.

Edward gave a high pitched laugh that could only be described as 'tinkling.'

_Or annoying_ thought Jasper.

"Why brother, dear," said Edward, with a flutter of his eyelashes. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Forget it," Jasper said. _Ugh, I actually preferred it when he was silent and broody.  
_  
Jasper turned away to hide a yawn, but Edward saw it.

"Why Jasper," he trilled, "You seem positively exhausted. Are you not sleeping well?"

"I am NOT sleeping well," said Jasper. "Alice is having psychic nightmares again. She keeps me up all night with her crying and screaming. She's nearly punched my lights out three times already in her sleep. She won't tell me anything, but I've never seen her so scared. She's been on edge for the last five days and she won't leave the house. Sometimes she talks in her sleep, moaning 'He's coming for us, oh Lord somebody stop him.' Whatever it is, it must make the Volturi seem like a flock of lambs by comparison."

Edward, who'd tuned out at the mention of nightmares and turned his attention to a monarch butterfly flitting past, turned back at the mention of baby sheep.

"Little lamby-kins?" he asked. "Where are they? I wish to pat them."

Jasper rolled his eyes and said nothing. That was when he noticed that the animals were oddly active for winter. Not only that, but instead of digging borrows or looking for food, they all seemed to be high-tailing it outta there. He swore he even saw a bear and her cubs all the way over in the forest, emerging from their cave. It was as though the animals knew something horrible was coming.

"Eddie, I'm going home now," said Jasper. You ought to do the same."

"In a minute," replied Edward. "I'm going to pick some pretty posies for my darling Bella."

_I'm SO glad we're not related by blood,_ thought Jasper.

None of that would matter soon.


End file.
